


the golden petal and the white

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Implied Sexual Content, No Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Pining, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: She recognised the flower, even though it wasn't whole.Narcissus papyraceus,or, as they'd been known among the Ninth House nuns, grave flowers.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Flash With Benefits





	the golden petal and the white

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/gifts).



Harrow was used to coughing up bits of blood, bone, and what Gideon had so cleverly named _mystery matter._ It never really bothered her, since it was just one more lovely thing that came with being a necromancer. Hacking up what felt like an entire lung didn't even bother her that much. It was the ghostly white petals sending the shiver down her spine, plucking at her goose pimpled flesh.

She recognised the flower, even though it wasn't whole. _Narcissus papyraceus,_ or, as they'd been known among the Ninth House nuns, grave flowers. They'd grown alongside the snow leeks in the fields, uprooted by bony fingers and brought down into the bowels of Drearburh. Harrow harboured no strong feelings about the flowers then. After being reacquainted with them only twice since leaving home, she despised them.

The first time was after she and Gideon had been...intimate wasn’t the wrong word, but it wasn’t precisely right either. Their entire relationship had been plagued by a strange, cloying kind of intimacy, long before Gideon had become her cavalier. Even _hatred_ was its own kind of intimacy, but it had since metamorphosed into something Other, _just_ nebulous enough to escape definition, until the fucking petals ruined it all.

Honestly, she’d have preferred the mystery matter to this.

There were three ways to fix this problem and, naturally, Harrow was inclined towards the bloodier, messier, and _infinitely less painful_ option of surgery. She could ask for Sextus' assistance. As humiliating as it would be to admit her affliction, he would look at her with his beautiful eyes and he would _understand,_ rather than pity her. That, at least, would be bearable. The other options were to do nothing and die, or somehow convince Gideon Nav to reciprocate feelings that she barely comprehended herself. It was all extremely unreasonable, as were most things where Gideon was concerned.

Especially unreasonable was the way she was draped across the enormous four poster bed, still naked and snoring. The cot at the foot of the bed remained untouched. The first time they'd - Harrow forced herself to admit it - _had sex,_ it had been something of an experiment. She'd only wanted to know whether she could create and regenerate a bone construct, _and_ ride Gideon's soul while...riding her. For science. Now that she thought about it, perhaps that had not been the most robust of excuses.

For the time being, she would mask the symptoms. It would be easy enough this early on, before she _nipped it in the bud,_ as it were. Just then, a tiny part of her wished she could confess to Gideon, if only to see her crack a smile at that pun. Such thoughts were stupid, and she'd do well to smother them as soon as the opportunity arose. She was surprised Gideon wasn't puking up roses for Dulcinea. Or maybe she was, but had the discipline and decency to do it in private. Harrow clamped a hand over her mouth as bile rose in her throat, sickly sweet and vaguely floral.

As she perched on the edge of the bed, Gideon stirred behind her, almost knocking her to the ground. Thankfully the sickness didn't affect her balance, and she recovered fairly quickly. That is, until Gideon stared up at her, bare faced, all copper and amber.

"Spit it out, Nav," she said, more exhausted than exasperated. And Gideon did, literally.

Harrow could have cried when the golden trumpet bloomed from Gideon's lips, accompanied by the intense, sweet fragrance of a bright yellow _narcissus._ She'd never smelled one before, never _seen_ one except in books, and yet it was entirely familiar to her.

"I think-" Gideon paused to pick a crumpled petal from between her teeth. "I think we need to _talk."_ Harrow coughed, then took a long, deep breath. Breathing was suddenly so much _easier._

She opened her mouth, knowing this would be the last time that petals came tumbling out, white mingling with yellow as they settled on the bed, laying bare everything Harrow had been too afraid to say. Their twin scents mingled, and it-

-it smelled like _home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for providing the inspiration and opportunity to explore a trope I hadn't written before. I really hope you enjoyed it ♥
> 
> Title is adapted from Michael Faber's "The Crimson Petal and the White", though the stories share very little in common!


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